Month: November 2018

Last week, our real estate agent inspected the apartment I share with Kit and His Dad. Unfortunately, the light fittings in our residence are somewhat accident-prone. Ever since we moved here, I find I only have to speak sternly and one of them breaks. Usually this occurs just in time for an inspection.

I asked Kit to tidy his room. He started by putting away all the big stuff, like toys and books. Then he moved onto clothes. Whenever I put piles of clean, folded laundry on his bed, he is supposed to put them away. It is surprising how much time procrastination takes if you are keen to do a really thorough job of it. When bedtime comes, if the clothes are still on the bed, he simply pushes them onto the floor. After he had put away the toys and books, I caught him playing with his toy bulldozer. No prizes for guessing what he was pushing around.

“Kit!” I implored, “Put the clean clothes down, and move away from the bulldozer. I would like you to put them away before they get mixed up with the dirty ones. I can assure you, I am not volunteering to do the sniff test, nor do I intend to wash them all again. Goodness knows, I have enough to do, what with thinking of increasingly imaginative ways to break all the light fittings.”

I didn’t actually say that last bit, but it was going through my mind. I left him eating dead beetles, and set about removing the largest light cover in the next room. I am not sure that its main function as a moth crematorium allows it to be as ornamental as was originally intended, but it was my job to make it appear so.

I stood on the bed, fiddling with screws and latches, finally wrestling the round oyster cover from its fixture. As I intended to do the vacuuming last, I upended it, and used a cloth to wipe it free of moths. Suddenly there was a crunching noise at my feet. I leapt back in alarm, dropping the light cover…..and saw Kit on the floor eating the moths! He looked up and deftly dodged the cover as it landed and broke in two.

“Oh, Mum. Not again!” he chided, “That’s the tenth one.”

“Actually, it’s only the third one,” I objected.

“Only?” he said sarcastically.

“If you hadn’t startled me, it would only be two!”

“Well, you can’t go around dropping barbequed moths on the floor, and expect me to ignore them. Yum!” he crunched.

An idea started to form in my mind. If we could only keep the moths out of the light covers in the first place, there would be no need to take them off to clean them. Who better to keep the apartment moth-free than the furry little moth-muncher at my feet.

“Kit,” I said, “How would you like to earn some extra pocket money?”

This morning, Kit asked me, “Can we have pizza for dinner tonight?”

I answered carefully, “Pizza’s junk-food, Kit. When do we eat junk food?”

“Only on the weekend,” he said dejectedly.

“Just two more days to go, then!” I said brightly, and offered him a celery stick as he glared at me.

“Come shopping with me, and ride in the trolley,” I offered as a consolation prize.

He cheered up, and we set off to the supermarket.

Kit loves trolleys. Usually, he treats the kid’s seat more like a Director’s Chair, telling me what he would like, and occasionally begging me to put something back (usually something green).  He stays in the trolley, as he is so small that he could easily get lost on foot. Actually, I once lost him in the trolley behind a head of cauliflower.

Today, Kit decided it was time to be lost somewhere more interesting than the bottom of a trolley. I don’t know how long he had been gone when I turned to where he had been to ask if he would prefer spinach or lettuce. I was greeted with a strange look from an Elderly Gentleman, apparently convinced that I was addressing a bag of potatoes. Unwilling to disappoint him, I smiled at the potatoes, said, “Spinach it is, then!” and rushed off to find Kit.

I circled the supermarket like a shark, acutely aware of Kit’s potential to be a total embarrassment. I finally located him. He had built a pyramid from various items on top of a shelf. He was perched at the top of it like a Christmas angel on a tree.

“Mum! Look at meeee!” he called, waving with both front paws.

Just as I called, “Kit! Be careful,” he lost his balance, and fell. The pyramid collapsed beneath him, collecting other items as it went like an avalanche. Fortunately, he landed on a packet of incontinence pads. Dodging a tin of sardines, he scurried towards me as the rest of his tower transformed itself into a traffic hazard.

As is always the way when you are trying to avoid someone, they keep appearing, forcing you to jump into rubbish bins, or become very interested in what is behind the nearest hedge. Coincidentally, the Elderly Gentleman had caught up with us, and he was blocked from the aisle by the ruins of Kit’s pyramid. He shook his walking stick at me, and shouted, “Lunatic!”

“Run, Mum, run!” Kit hissed, as I scooped him up.

I’m ashamed to say, I abandoned my trolley, and did as he suggested.

It turns out that this lunatic and her meerkat are having pizza tonight afterall.

“Mum! It’s snowing,” Kit called, rushing inside all excited.

We live in Perth, Australia. It doesn’t snow here. Ever. It doesn’t even try. In fact, it is as if snow has a phobia of Perth. Perthverts (as they are affectionately known) consider 10 degrees Celsius to be ‘freezing’.

“Kit, it’s the middle of spring. It’s 30 degrees!” I exclaimed.

“I know. It’s weird. It must be climate change,” he continued, “They say that it will create more extreme temperatures. It might be 30 degrees now, but it must have been freezing two minutes ago.”

“Um,” I said.

“Look. I’ve got snow on me,” he persisted, proudly displaying his shoulder, which, admittedly was covered in a white substance. The penny dropped.

“Kit,” I began, “Were there any birds around when it was snowing?”

“Yeah. There were heaps of seagulls,” he admitted, “Why? Do they like snow?”

“Well,” I said carefully, “If you look at the ‘snow’ on your shoulder, do you wonder why it isn’t melting?”

“It’s probably really good quality snow,” he replied.

“Actually, I think that what is on your shoulder is something that came out of a seagull,” I said politely.

“Oh,” he said.

He thought about it for a bit, “You mean its bum?” he asked.

“How come you never told me that’s where snow comes from?”